


To Think This Heart Was Divided.

by Sixth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Stanford Era, Wincest - Freeform, relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 07:50:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4340090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sixth/pseuds/Sixth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t know what comes over him.  This sudden, scalding, insatiable need that won’t relent, pounding through his veins by a traitorous heart whose beats are replaced by a name.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Dean. Dean. Dean.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	To Think This Heart Was Divided.

He doesn’t know what comes over him. This sudden, scalding, insatiable need that won’t relent, pounding through his veins by a traitorous heart whose beats are replaced by a name.

_Dean. Dean. Dean._

The distance was supposed to _help, damn it._ Sam avidly tries not to think about it; turns the page in his textbook in a feeble attempt to drown himself in Nietzsche’s ideals about resentment breeding morality. How ironic.

_Dean was pinned underneath him, chartreuse eyes almost fever bright and glassy. They’d been hot and hard and fast for the better part of an hour, all teeth and desperate hands as Dean tried to wear down Sam’s resolve._

_“Please, Sammy… **Please** …”_

_Sam’s breath shuddered out of him, shoulders hunching in defeat as he rested his forehead against his brother’s sweaty back. “It’s not gonna change anything, Dean…”_

A splinter of pain startles Sam from his reverie – he’s bitten his nail down to the cuticle, reading the same words over and over again without taking them in. Marking his place with his pencil in the crook of the spine, Sam sets the book aside and scrubs his hands over his face and entertains the idea of taking a shower. Going for a run. Something to get rid of this pent up energy.

_“Mmmph… Love the way you smell, the fuckin’ **taste** of your skin…” Dean had twisted around; ignoring Sam’s reply and catching his nose in the junction of Sam’s jaw and throat as though he could breathe Sam’s essence in and keep it safe behind his ribs._

_“Dean,” Sam pleaded. “I can’t. Not when I’m --”_

_“Wanna give it t’you.” Dean interrupted, arching his back and pushing against Sam’s groin. The grating of denim against denim made Sam falter; made him take up fistfuls of sheet as he fought not to grind down into the firmness of his brother’s ass. “Wanna give everything t’you, Sammy…”_

Tossing the book aside Sam suddenly stands, but past that he’s got nothing. No direction. Sam runs a hand through his hair and exhales harshly. His gaze falls resignedly to his bed. _Just try and get it out of your system._ The linens, a stark contrast to the starchy, scratchy sheets of _then_ , are soft and smooth against Sam’s skin as he climbs up onto the bed; stripping his shirt and sweats. The mattress lacks the loose springs and lumps of unknown origin that so many of their motel beds boasted, but unfortunately for Sam it also lacks one other thing. 

“Dean,” Sam murmurs, his brother’s name transcending from memory to mouth as he collapses forward onto the bed; pillow tucked up under his hips.

_“O-oh fuck, Sam!” Lust had made Dean’s mouth manipulate his brother’s name into something more like ‘Say-um’, but Sam’s blood had been too loud in his ears to hear it as he slid home and claimed what Dean was so willing to give. Dean was so **perfect** that it was hard to breathe, and for moments at a time all Sam could do was gasp against Dean’s freckled skin and let his hips buck feebly up against his brother._

Sam’s hips lack that feebleness now, rolling forward into the pillow with long, sure movements. With his left forearm braced against the bed for leverage, Sam presses his eyes against his bicep and groans, remembering the slick, velvet feel of Dean’s channel flexing and relaxing around him. Of the frustrated, stuttering sound of Dean being drawn back and forth across the line of pain versus pleasure as Sam’s cockhead butted up against his prostate; the way his throat constricted and his Adam’s apple bobbed beneath Sam’s lean fingers as they skirted over the stubbled skin.

“Nngh...” Sam’s lip curls back over his teeth, and he arches his back to drive his hips in harder against the bulk of the pillow. It won’t take long tonight. Any other night Sam would be stripping himself raw, incapable of bringing himself to completion even with images of his beloved brother being painted vividly by his mind’s eye. 

In an act of hedonism – though once his blood cools he might argue it to be more one of masochism – Sam reaches behind the head of his bed and pulls out a very faded, very threadbare t-shirt. It might have been black once but now it’s a sad shade of grey, and only remnants of a lightning bolt decal still cling to the cotton. Sam bunches it up and buries his face in it, and it’s on the end of a long, deep intake of breath that he shudders and comes _hard_ ; spurting hot, thick come into the pillow. What Sam _doesn’t_ entirely anticipate is the flood of tears that follow, and he slumps to the bed and sobs into Dean’s shirt.

Somewhere across the continental United States, Dean is painting his belly and fingers with his own thick, white strands. The fluorescent light of the motel sign makes his sweat-sheened skin seem almost ethereal in the half darkness.

Unlike Sam, Dean doesn’t have any issues with bringing himself to completion, but there’s a catch. Like Dean himself, without Sam his orgasms are weak. Pathetic. Useless. But tonight - tonight had been different. His breath had caught, his chest heaved, and while there were places deep inside him that ached despite his fingers being pressed in as far as they could go; Dean shuddered and swore his way to the best orgasms he’d had since --

Dean just sighs wistfully and gazes up at the ceiling.

“Happy anniversary, baby boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Un beta'd. Constructive criticism welcomed as always, especially since I toyed around with the changing of tenses here to reflect memories.
> 
> Tumblr : impala-oneninesixseven
> 
> Title: Lyrics from "Find Me" - Boyce Avenue.


End file.
